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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29966346">Can't Take Back What's Already Done</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/youreyeslookliketheocean/pseuds/youreyeslookliketheocean'>youreyeslookliketheocean</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Dream Smp, Dream smp prison arc, Mostly Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Sam | Awesamdude, Sam | Awesamdude-Centric, TW: Blood, Tommyinnit resurrection, Warden Sam | Awesamdude, im making that a tag now, tommy can't catch a break rip, tw: death, why is angst literally all i write smh ill write something happier i swear</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:35:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,213</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29966346</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/youreyeslookliketheocean/pseuds/youreyeslookliketheocean</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>TommyInnit was slain by Dream.<br/>...<br/>There was no way that message had been right. Surely, he must have read it wrong. He’d just heard Tommy. He’d just seen his name flickering across the lava. And yet, another glance at his communicator proved he hadn’t read wrong. And the server was never wrong. If it said Tommy had died, then...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Part 1: Sam's POV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Imma be honest, I'm not sure how I feel about this one. But! I did have fun writing it (despite the angst)! And it's a 3 parter, which is neat. Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>TommyInnit was slain by Dream.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The message shows up on his communicator while he’s hanging up his prison keys, getting ready to go home for the night. He’d just placed more potatoes in the prison’s feeding system—double the amount, actually, since both Dream and Tommy were locked in the main cell now. He’d just seen Tommy. Just heard him screaming profanities at the top of his lungs and begging to be let out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Sam’s heart had clenched at the words, and when Tommy had stepped closer to the microphone on the other end of the lava and whispered, “this is worse that exile, Sam,” that had nearly broken him. He’d nearly brought down the lava barrier right then and there; nearly abandoned all carefully outlined protocol because Tommy was in pain. Tommy needed him. Tommy wanted out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He was just a kid. And Sam had <em>just</em> been talking to him. There was no way Tommy was... he was...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Sam’s keys hit the ground with a clatter, and he didn’t bother picking them back up. Instead, he whirled back towards the prison hallways—ducking and weaving between the elaborate security checks he’d designed, ignoring them all—and raced back to the main cell.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>There was no way that message had been right. Surely, he must have read it wrong. He’d just heard Tommy. He’d just seen his name flickering across the lava. And yet, another glance at his communicator proved he hadn’t read wrong. And the server was <em>never</em> wrong. If it said Tommy had died, then...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Tommy!” Sam yelled, bursting into the final security checkpoint and coming face to face with a wall of searing hot lava. “Tommy! Are you over there?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The only sound he was met with was gurgling lava. Panicking, Sam threw himself at the levers on the wall, pulling the one for the lava canopy down. Slowly, the lava began to recede down towards the floor.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Tommy!” Sam screamed, voice cracking at the end as the top bit of Dream’s cell began to come into view. “Tommy, please! I came to... to get you out! I’m sorry! I’m sorry- sorry for taking so long! Are you in there?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The lava dipped down again, revealing the upper half of the cell—revealing Dream’s face staring across at him. The man's green eyes seemed to glow in the dark prison cell.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Sam swallowed. He needed to get it together. Here, he was the Warden. He could panic out there, cry out there, scream out there, but in here... in here there was a psychopath staring at him from across a lake of lava. Sam couldn’t show weakness here.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Where’s Tommy?” Sam asked, using the most authoritative tone he could muster.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The lava slid down another foot, almost revealing the cell floor, and Dream smiled. For the first time, Sam noticed that the masked man was covered in some sort of liquid. It was hard to see into the dark cell, even with the lava's burning light shining just outside it, but Sam could see the dark stains on Dream’s prison uniform, the spatter of freckles that hadn’t been on his white mask before. Dream raised a hand to wave, and Sam stumbled back as he realized Dream’s hand was <em>covered in blood</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Just as he realized this, the lava sank down another foot, revealing the prison floor. Revealing Tommy.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Sam screamed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Sam was used to seeing death. He’d seen too many wars to not be used to the tangy smell of fresh blood, the sight of a friend dropping like a fly to the ground below you, the wheezing exhale of their last breath, the pale color of their skin just before the server took them away to respawn. He’d even seen Schlatt and Wilbur's Final Deaths. Unlike the first two deaths, after this death there was no respawn. The server left the bodies where they were, as if knowing that there was no point in bringing a person back to spawn who had finally lost their soul.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Despite all this, Sam had never seen a death as horrifying, as merciless, as this.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Without thinking about it, Sam pressed the lever down for the moving platform. He stepped onto it just as it took off across the lava, nearly missing the first step because of his trembling legs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“What did you do to him?” Sam screamed before the platform had even made it halfway across the glowing pit. “What did you do?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Dream laughed, his cackles echoing inside the chamber. Despite the burning hot lava beneath his feet, Sam felt like a bucket of ice water had just been dumped over his head.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The platform jolted to a stop at the main cell, and Sam practically threw himself off of it. He dropped down at Tommy’s side, rolling the boy over so he could get a good look at his face.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He immediately wished he hadn’t. Blood had pooled on the floor all around him. Tommy’s hair was matted with it, stained so darkly on one side that Sam couldn’t even see the blond color anymore.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He choked back a sob, pushing his hand through Tommy’s bangs to move them away from his eyes. His open eyes. His completely vacant, dull, gray eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Sam actually did sob, this time. He couldn’t hold it back anymore. He cried, bending over Tommy’s body and rocking him slowly back and forth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“What did you do to him? What did you do to him?” Sam whispered over and over, cradling the boy in his arms. Blood was beginning to seep into his Warden uniform, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care he didn’t care because Tommy’s chest wasn’t moving. Tommy was dead. Tommy was actually dead. Dream had <em>murdered</em> him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>And Dream was<em> laughing </em>about it. He’d backed into a corner of the cell and sank down to the floor, but he was still laughing. Cackling, practically, as he stared at Sam. He’d pushed his mask to the side just for this—just so Sam could see him as he laughed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Sam saw red. Bright, furious red that rivaled even the lava burning behind him. He wanted to bash Dream's head in, to blow him to pieces like the creeper part of him was meant to do. But he couldn’t kill Dream. If he killed Dream, the prison would kill him. He knew the rules. He'd written nearly all of them himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Gently lowering Tommy’s body back to the ground, Sam pushed himself to his feet. His legs felt like jelly beneath him, but he had to ignore it for now. There was time to have a meltdown later. There was time to cry and scream and rage later. Right now, he needed to go back and get something to clean Tommy up with so he could actually bring the boy back across the lava and into the main prison. Something he should have done days ago.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Sam nearly lets out another sob at the realization that this is <em>his</em> fault. He failed Tommy. After learning what Dream had done to him, promising to protect him as Sam Nook, building a hotel with him... he’d failed him. He’d let down the one person he’d sworn would never be let down again, and he couldn’t even apologize because Tommy was dead. Tommy was dead, and he wasn’t coming back this time. His body still being here was proof of that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You're a monster,” Sam grit out, fists tightening at his sides as he gently slid Tommy back to the floor and turned to look at Dream. “A fucking... <em>monster</em>. <em>Fuck</em> you. I’ll be back.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>With that said, he rose and stumbled back onto the bridge. The seconds it took for him to travel back across the lava seemed like years, and by the time he’d finally made it to the other side, his legs were just about ready to give out beneath him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Fuck Dream. Fuck this server. Fuck it all because as if taking away Tommy’s childhood wasn’t enough, now it had taken the rest of his life, too.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Sam continued down the hallway, ignoring the tears that streaked down his cheeks. Oh god. He had to tell everyone. He had to tell Tubbo.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He could do that on the way to his base. He knew he had some thick bandages in a chest back there that could help clean up some of the mess. That way, at least Tommy wouldn’t completely bleed out all over the prison floor.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Sam sniffled as he slid through the last hallway and into the brightly lit lobby. The giant, purple Nether portal flickered to life, and Sam walked forward until he stood at the edge of it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Tubbo was going to hate him. This was all his fault. This was <em>all his fault</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Nevertheless, the Warden took a steadying breath, and stepped through.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Part 2: Tommy's POV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>Coming back from the dead felt kind of like vomiting, but internally. Internal vomiting. It was like his insides and outsides were all tearing themselves apart and stitching themselves back together again, but the stitches were messy, and bits and pieces of himself kept leaking out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It had been three full hours since Tommy had been resurrected, and somehow he still felt this way. Like the world was turned inside out. Like <em>he</em> was turned inside out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He shuddered, pulling his knees tighter into his chest. Out of all the terrible things Dream had done to him, killing him just to bring him back again won the top spot.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>At least Dream had stopped talking about sending him back for “research.” The man had been blessedly silent for the past hour and a half, and Tommy had a feeling it had something to do with the fact that he had gone silent as well. He just... didn’t feel like talking anymore. Not to Dream. Maybe not even to anyone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Dream had said he’d only been dead for two days, but for Tommy it had been months. Months of Wilbur’s insane raving, Schlatt’s drunken slurs, and... well... and Mexican Dream. Mexican Dream, at least, had been entertaining.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It had changed him. Dying would change anyone, Tommy thought. It made him quieter. Made his hands shake every time Dream looked over at him. Made him flinch at every sudden noise, every sudden movement, much like he had just after exile.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Maybe it hadn’t changed him as much as he thought.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Still, it was undoubtably the worst thing Tommy had ever—and <em>would</em> ever—experience<em>, </em>and he didn’t want it to happen again. Which is why he’d spent the first hour after waking up screaming at Dream, and the next half hour after that screaming for Sam, for Phil, for Tubbo, for <em>anyone</em> that could possibly hear him and let him out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>So far, no one had shown up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Wanna play i-spy again?” Dream asked from his bed. He was turned away, lying on his side and tracing his fingertips along the dips and grooves in the obsidian wall. Even from across the room, Tommy could see the slight traces of his own blood stained on Dream’s hands. He hadn’t even bothered to wash them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It made Tommy sick. It made his breath constrict in his lungs as if he was about to die all over again. It made his eyes water and his nose sting.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Absolutely fuckin’ not,” Tommy choked out, looking back towards the curtain of lava beside him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Sam, Phil, Tubbo, anyone... <em>please</em> hurry...</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Part 3: Sam's POV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just as a note, this is not canon compliant in that it hasn't been 2 days since Dream killed Tommy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p></p>
  <div>
    <p>Sam had tried to make it back to the prison quickly. He really had. But everyone kept stopping him along the way. Jack, Puffy, Quackity, Eret... even Foolish had been around.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>First it was Tubbo and Ranboo, outside the prison, and Sam had stood there anxiously shifting his weight from foot to foot while the younger two boys asked question upon question. “Where’s Tommy?” “What happened?” “Was the notification real?” “Is he actually...?”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam had choked down his pride and answered as honestly as he could. Tommy wasn’t coming out. Dream killed him. The notification was real; the server was never wrong.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Tommy was dead.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Then he stumbled past them, muttering excuses about having to go get those bandages from his base. Last he’d heard, Ranboo had been upset, while Tubbo seemed to be stuck in some weird phase of complete and utter denial. Sam didn’t blame him. It sounded better to be stuck in denial than to believe that Tommy had really been beaten to death by Dream in probably the most terrifying place on the SMP.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>If Sam thought about it, the death really didn’t even sound like Tommy. Tommy had a larger-than-life personality. He was loud and obnoxious, always liked to be the center of attention, and had a flair for the dramatic. He doubted that Tommy would have wanted to go out with anything less than a bang, and yet... This death had been so utterly human. It made Sam’s stomach roil.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Beaten to death by his abuser. Trapped in an obsidian box. Probably screaming and crying out for someone to save him, but no one could hear. No one had been there.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam closed his eyes against the harsh images and picked up his pace. Once he’d made it back to the prison, it had only taken him a few minutes to make his way through all the security checkpoints. He was at the last one, now, and he held his breath as he swam through the water tunnel and emerged on the other side. He slipped through the secret Warden's entrance to get passed the lava barrier, only to be met with another curtain of lava gurgling before him. The final barrier between himself and Dream. Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to see what was on the other side again, but he had no choice. He’d already made the wrong decision before, and it had cost him Tommy’s life.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Checking his inventory to make sure the bandages were still there—they were—Sam pushed the lever to lower the lava once more.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>He hoped Dream was asleep. He hoped the man hadn’t touched Tommy in the time he’d been gone. He hoped he wouldn’t have to talk to him, because if he did, he might start screaming.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>The lava dipped down to the roof of the cell, and Sam held his breath, steeling himself to see the same, gruesome sight he had last time, to hear Dream’s maniacal laughter again, to see Tommy’s chest completely still and quiet.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>He wasn’t expecting Tommy’s voice to shout at him.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“SAM! SAM!”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam jumped as the lava dipped down again, exposing the ceiling of the cell.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p><em>Tommy?</em> That wasn’t Tommy. Tommy was dead. Was he hearing things? Was this his guilt manifesting?</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“SAM YOU ABSOLUTE DICKHEAD, LET ME OUT!”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>The lava sank down into the pool below, and Sam could have cried. He did cry, actually. His hands shook and his body trembled as he caught sight of Tommy—healthy, alive, <em>Tommy</em>—standing at the edge of the cell. There was still blood caking the teen’s hair and clothes. The floor was smattered with it where he’d been lying before. But Tommy was <em>alive</em>.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>
      <em>How?</em>
    </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“Tommy?” Sam called across the lava.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“LET ME OUT!” Tommy’s voice cracked at the end, but he didn’t have to tell Sam twice.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam flicked the lever for the bridge, and hurried to step on before it left without him.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“YOU MASSIVE PRICK! YOU LEFT ME IN HERE FOR... FOR A LONG TIME! YOU LEFT ME!”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>The bridge made it across, and then Tommy was in his arms, shaking and trembling but somehow not crying. He didn’t even make a sound as Sam pulled him onto the bridge.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>He held Tommy close to his chest, keeping one arm around the boy and using the other to press a button on his communicator to take them back across the lava. Before it could take off, he shot a glare over Tommy’s head at the prisoner left behind. Dream was sitting in the corner on his bed, a wide smile stretched across his face.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“I’m a god, Tommy,” the man said, his smile only widening. “I’m a <em>god</em>.”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>The boy in his arms shuddered, but no words left his mouth. Sam squeezed him tighter to himself, shielding him from Dream’s view.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“I am so, so sorry,” Sam apologized, ignoring Dream’s shouting behind them.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>The bridge thudded against the prison wall, and Sam held out a hand to help Tommy step over onto solid ground. He wasn’t expecting Tommy to refuse it, but he supposed that was about as much as he deserved. He pulled his hand back to his side, and Tommy stepped off the bridge alone.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>The lava had already began to lower itself behind them, and as it finally closed over the entrance to the cell, Tommy sank down to the blackstone floor of the security room and covered his face with his hands.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“Tommy,” Sam’s voice hiccuped as he crouched down next to the boy. He reached out to touch him, to draw him back into his arms. He still had no idea what had happened back in that cell—how Tommy was alive when the server said he was killed, when Sam had <em>seen</em> his body—but it was obvious that Tommy needed comfort more than Sam needed answers. His fingers brushed against Tommy’s blood stained tee-shirt. “Tommy, I—"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Tommy yanked his body backwards, scrambling away from Sam’s touch like it had burned him.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“S-stay away from me!” he yelled, the words crackling from his throat like he hadn’t used his voice in days. “Please! Please, no! I don’t want it! I don’t wanna die!”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam recoiled. “Tommy, I’m not going to hurt you. What happened?”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Tommy glanced up at him, his wide blue eyes filled with fear and tears. “Sam, Sam he killed me. He <em>killed</em> me. He... he fucked me up. Then he brought me back. Sam, I—“ Tommy broke off, his eyes trailing over the blackstone floor before he squeezed them shut. It didn’t matter; the tears still leaked out. “I want to go <em>home</em>.”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam’s heart broke at the way Tommy’s voice sounded so utterly shattered. It was like his vocal cords were glass and someone had smashed them. His tone was so far from what Sam had heard just about a week ago, outside the hotel they’d been putting the finishing touches on, that if Tommy hadn’t been sitting right in front of him he might have mistaken it for someone else’s. It didn’t even sound like the same Tommy that had screamed at him from across the lava mere moments ago. That Tommy had been putting up a facade in front of Dream. This Tommy had caved under the pressure of it.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>He had been getting so much better. His eyes had been brightening, his smile widening, his words were less careful and calculated. And now... Sam hadn’t thought that anything could have broken Tommy quite as much as exile had, but apparently he’d been wrong.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Tommy continued to shake against the wall he’d backed himself into, and Sam held up his hands placatingly. “We’ll go home, I promise. Can you stand and follow me?”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Tommy sniffled, wiping his nose with the shoulder of his sleeve. Sam might have told him off for ruining a perfectly good shirt if the sleeve hadn’t already been coated in blood.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Finally, Tommy nodded. Sam stood back up, and Tommy followed him on shaky legs through the security checkpoints and back to the main lobby. He was eerily silent the whole way back. He barely even sniffled, and whenever Sam looked back at him he had a glazed look on his face—his eyes hazy and face pale. In the lobby's fluorescent lighting, he almost looked like a ghost.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam hit a button to activate the Nether portal, and Tommy followed him into it without speaking. They came out on the other side in a sort of white and black box Sam had created to link the portals together, and then walked through again to get to the outside world.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam’s shoulders sank as the smell of grass and the sound of late-night crickets met his ears. They’d made it back to the SMP.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam glanced down at the boy standing beside him, expecting him to smile or say something or maybe even make a run for the grass outside. But Tommy just stood there, frozen, inside the entryway. His fingers were twitching by his sides as if he wanted to do something, say something, but his limbs and mouth remained stubbornly locked.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“Where do you want to go?” Sam asked.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Tommy swallowed. “Home,” he said quietly. “I wanna go home.”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam nodded, ignoring the prickling tears building against his eyes as he started walking towards the exit. “Okay. I can walk you back to your house, if that’s okay with you. I...I told some people that you were...you were dead, and I don’t want to leave you to deal with them on your own if they see you and decide to ask questions. ...Tommy?” Sam turned back around as he realized no one was following him.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Tommy was still standing in the middle of the entryway, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso. “I... what if he kills me again, Sam?”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“He won’t. He’s trapped in there. He can’t get out. Even if he did, I wouldn’t let him hurt you. Not again.”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>When Tommy remained silent, Sam continued. “I’m so sorry, Tommy. I should have come earlier. I... I didn’t think he’d actually hurt you.”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Tommy shifted on his feet, glancing past Sam to the archway that led outside. Slowly, he shuffled forwards until he was at Sam’s side again. “Okay,” was all he mumbled as the two set out across the grass and up the Prime Path towards Tommy’s house.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>The first thing that Sam realized as they neared Tommy’s base was that it had considerably more light coming from it than it ever had before. Before, the only source of light had come from inside the house, torchlight shining through the windows on the doors. Now, however, someone had placed lanterns and candles down on the grass outside. The golden light was warm and comforting, and sent shadows dancing along the path in front of them. The second thing Sam noticed were the bright red and white flowers spread across the whole yard and trailing up the side of the house. These certainly hadn’t been here yesterday. Someone had planted them.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>They’d decorated Tommy’s house. In the few hours after Sam had told everyone what happened, someone had decorated Tommy’s house for him.</p>
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    <p>Sam didn’t have time to think about the gesture any more as Tommy started for the door. He followed the kid inside, glancing around the tiny, dirt base and down the stairs to the second level. He hadn’t been inside Tommy’s house much, or possibly ever. He could recall maybe one other time that he’d entered the house, and it was as Sam Nook when he and Tommy had been hunting for building supplies. The two of them had rummaged through chests, Tommy laughing and joking and Sam Nook watching with a fond smile hidden behind his mask. The memory was a stark contrast to the present moment.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Tommy paused in the middle of the room and looked around like he wasn’t quite sure what to do now. His eyes still held that same, hazy quality, and his face was deathly pale. He took a shaky breath in, then, finally, spoke, “I’m tired, Sam.”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“I know,” Sam responded. “How about we get you cleaned up, and then go to bed? Do you have any healing potions? Your face is... is covered...”</p>
  </div>
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    <p>Sam left the rest of the sentence unsaid. He didn’t feel like Tommy needed a reminder that half of his face was covered in blood. </p>
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    <p>“I don’t need healing potions,” Tommy said, shaking his head. “Dream already healed me when he brought me back. It’s part of the magic, I guess, or whatever that shit was.”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“Magic?” Sam questioned. “What magic?”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>For a second, Tommy looked like he was about to shut down again. His hands clenched at his sides, and he pressed his lips into a tight line. Then, he shut his eyes and turned his face down to the ground. “The Revive Book, Sam. It’s real. It’s real and Dream has it.”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam froze. The Revive Book... he’d heard about that. He’d heard about it from Tommy, actually, one day while they were both yanking weeds outside the hotel. They’d been sitting in the dirt, sun beaming down from overhead, and somehow they’d started talking about how Dream wound up in the prison. Tommy had explained to him that this so called “Revive Book” was the only reason he’d allowed Dream to live after they’d defeated him in the Hall of Attachments. Tommy had wanted to bring back Wilbur, and if Dream could actually revive people from the dead like he said he could, then they couldn’t kill him. They needed him.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam had secretly thought that Dream might have just been stringing Tommy along—just one more lie to add onto his ever-growing list—but evidently not.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>He’d brought <em>Tommy</em> back with it.Was that why he’d been calling himself a god?</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Evidently tired of waiting around in silence, Tommy headed towards the staircase that led into the lower levels of his house. Sam trailed behind, half of his brain focused on making sure that Tommy didn’t fall on his unstable legs, and the other half still trying to wrap itself around the fact that Tommy had quite literally been pulled back from the afterlife by the very person that had put him there in the first place. It made no sense, but Sam wasn’t about to ask Tommy about it now. Not when the boy looked just about ready to pass out standing up. Not when he was still covered in his own blood, all the way down to his shoes.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Tommy paused at the bottom of the staircase, slightly swaying back and forth, and Sam walked around to stand in front of him.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“Come on,” Sam said gently, extending a hand out to Tommy. He hadn’t taken it on the bridge in the prison, but the least Sam could do was offer. “Where’s your bed and chests with clothes? You’ll feel better once you get out of these clothes and into new ones, and then you can sleep for a little while.”</p>
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    <p>Hesitantly, Tommy slid his hand into Sam’s. “'S room on the left,” he mumbled, grip tightening ever so slightly as he began to pull Sam towards his bedroom.</p>
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    <p>Tommy’s room was small, and not necessarily what Sam would have considered a bedroom, but it was better than nothing. Four large chests sat in a row against one wall, and Tommy’s bed was shoved into the very back corner—sheets rumpled in a pile on top of it and remnants of what looked like old dinner left out on the chest closest to it. There was also a small cauldron of water in the opposing corner, though Sam had no clue how old it was.</p>
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    <p>Tommy walked over to his bed, letting go of Sam’s hand to plop himself down into it. They both ignored the fact that he was going to leave bloodstains everywhere.</p>
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    <p>Sam lifted the lid of the nearest chest and rifled through it for some new clothes. He found some, buried deep at the bottom below a stack of iron armor and some old potatoes, and handed them to Tommy on the bed. Then he glanced towards the cauldron.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“Do you have a towel of any sort? Like a washcloth? That way you don’t have to take a full bath right now, but I can help you clean up a little bit. If you want.”</p>
  </div>
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    <p>Tommy frowned, then tilted his head towards the chest closest to the door. “In there,” he said, “but... but I can clean up myself.” He glanced down at his hands, examining the red stains covering them. “It’s just a... a little blood...”</p>
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    <p>Sam shook his head, heading over to the chest and pulling a small, raggedy towel from it. It looked like it had used to be blue, but over time the cloth had been stained an ugly brown color. Sam didn’t even want to think about how that had happened. Tommy had fought in too many wars, felt too much bloodshed, and the towel showed it.</p>
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    <p>Sighing, Sam walked over to the cauldron and dunked the rag into it. The water wasn’t as disgusting as he’d previously thought it would be. In fact, it might have been the cleanest part of Tommy’s room. He pulled the rag out and wrung it once, twice, before walking back over to Tommy.</p>
  </div>
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    <p>“Can I sit down next to you?” Sam asked.</p>
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    <p>Once Tommy nodded, Sam slowly sank down onto the bed beside him and held up the towel. “I can do this, or you can,” he said quietly. “It’s your choice.”</p>
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    <p>Tommy sat quietly for a moment, staring at the towel in Sam’s hand. He looked down at his arms, streaked with red stains and dirt, then back up at Sam. “I can do it.”</p>
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  <div>
    <p>Sam handed over the towel, letting Tommy start to scrub at his forearms. Murky water trickled down, dripping off of his fingers and onto the floor below. Sam didn’t mention it. He sat quietly, trying to offer as much moral support as he could while the younger boy continued to scrub. And scrub. And scrub. And his arm was turning pink from how hard he was scrubbing. And the towel was being clenched too tight and water was dripping from Tommy’s face and mixing with the puddle he’d created on the floor and—</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“Tommy, Tommy stop.”</p>
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    <p>Tommy sobbed, dropping the towel with shaking hands. Sam hurried to catch it before it hit the floor.</p>
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    <p>“I hate this,” Tommy said, shakily swiping at his face with the back of his palm. “I look like... I look like I died! I did die! He killed me! He killed me and it hurt and I was so scared and Wilbur said I wasn’t supposed to die. He wasn’t supposed to kill me! I just wanted to leave! Why couldn’t you have let me leave?”</p>
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  <div>
    <p>Sam hadn’t realized he’d been squeezing the towel until cool water began to seep through his uniform. He reached out to touch Tommy’s shoulder, but the boy flinched back so violently that Sam decided it wasn’t the time.</p>
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    <p>Tommy sniffled, wiping his wet and bloody palms off on his ripped pants. The tears had moistened some of the dried blood on his face, and it smeared against his cheeks every time he rubbed them.</p>
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    <p>Sam lifted the towel again. “Can I clean your face? Or do you not want me touching you right now?”</p>
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    <p>Tommy sniffled again. “I don’t know. I think...” he sniffled again, sucking in a shaky breath and letting it out in a slow, careful exhale. “My face feels gross. So I think you can try.”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam nodded, slowly scooting forward on the bed and raising the rag to Tommy’s cheek. Tommy inhaled sharply as the towel made contact, but after a minute of Sam carefully swiping away dirt and grime, he relaxed into the touch and closed his eyes.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“I wish I could have let you out before,” Sam said, “but if I had, I would have had to let Dream out too. I knew you wouldn’t want that. It would be too dangerous, not only for you, but for everyone else on the server. For... for Tubbo. You’re not selfish, Tommy. You wouldn’t want that.”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>He didn’t miss the way Tommy swallowed at the observation, but the kid’s eyes stayed closed, so Sam continued.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“That doesn’t excuse what I did to you, though. And I’m so, so sorry. I should have... I don’t know. I should have done <em>something</em>. I should have come to check up on you more. I should have hired more guards to help me fix the security breach. I should have...” Sam shook his head, leaving the rest of his apologies unsaid.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Tommy’s face was almost completely clean, now. All the dirt and blood had been washed away, revealing lavender colored bruises and small scars of wounds that had apparently healed over already. Or maybe they’d been there before. Sam wasn’t sure. Either way, his injuries were a lot less severe than Sam had been expecting. Maybe it was because of the book. Tommy had said he didn’t need healing potions because Dream had done it for him. The book must have—at least partially—healed him.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam pulled the towel away from Tommy’s face. If it had been any other circumstance, he might have chuckled at how Tommy subconsciously followed it with his body. But it wasn’t any other circumstance, and the boy was obviously half asleep already.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“Tommy?” Sam gently prodded, holding back a grin as the boy’s eyes fluttered open.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“Hm? You’s done already?”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam nodded. “Yeah. But your hair is still a mess. Want me to wash it out?”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Tommy nodded with a sigh, his eyes falling closed again. Sam wondered if he could sleep sitting up. He might have had to in that prison cell with Dream.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“Okay. I’ll use the towel to do that, too. You can lay down, if you want.”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Tommy hummed, already sliding down to lay on the bed. “Haven’t been this comf’table in long time,” he slurred, sinking into the bedsheets.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam smiled, pulling one of the blankets up and resting it next to Tommy’s hand so that the boy could pull it over himself. Then he bent over, humming a warning to Tommy before he started to comb through his hair with the towel.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>It took awhile, and several trips back to the cauldron to get clean water, but by the time Sam finished Tommy’s hair was back to its original blond color. Sam ran his fingers through the damp strands, glad that Tommy had fallen asleep a little over an hour ago and therefore wouldn’t be bothered by the touch.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>The way the boy’s chest rose and fell steadily seemed like a miracle. Something that had been so commonplace, so ordinary before suddenly seemed impossible to comprehend. Tommy had died, but here he was breathing again. His eyes were closed for now, but they’d open later.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam looked down at the pile of clean clothes sitting next to Tommy. In Tommy’s exhaustion, he’d forgotten to change into them, but it was okay. As long as he was comfortable.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, taking in Tommy’s peaceful expression. “I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry I didn’t do more. I’m sorry you had to go through that alone. You’re... you’re too young for that.”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Tommy’s nose scrunched up in his sleep, and Sam chuckled quietly. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re not a child. But you aren’t an adult either, and I am, and I should have been there to protect you.” Sam choked on the tears that had suddenly welled up in his eyes. He remembered the feel of Tommy’s lifeless body in his arms, Dream’s cackling, the blood seeping through his pants. He’d left Tommy to face that alone. He hadn’t protected him like he promised. “I feel terrible. But it’s done now, and neither of us can go back and change it.”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam sniffled, pushing his mask aside to wipe away the stray tears. “I’ll stay here, though, until you wake up. And then... and then I have to go talk to Dream.”</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>What Dream had done wasn’t okay. Even though he’d brought Tommy back, he’d still killed him. He’d killed him physically, and he’d killed him mentally. Sam couldn’t imagine what coming back from the dead would do to an already traumatized child, but it was certainly nothing good. Dream was Sam's prisoner now. Even though he was his own person, once he’d entered he prison he became Sam’s ward, and Sam couldn’t just let this slide. He’d seen Dream’s sanity slipping away before, outside the prison. He’d seen the way he manipulated Tubbo during L’manburg’s fall, heard about how he’d pulled Tommy’s strings during exile, and he’d seen the wild look in his eyes when they’d all appeared in the Hall of Attachments to take him down. He’d seen the way Dream had been looking at Tommy and Tubbo before he realized he was outnumbered. He’d been looking at them with bloodlust shining in his eyes, and it had been terrifying. </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>As the Warden, though, Sam couldn’t be afraid of Dream. He had to face him. He had to—</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam jumped as a warm hand grabbed his. He glanced down, and his creeper heart just about burst as he realized it was Tommy’s. The boy was still asleep, but he’d wrapped his hand around Sam’s wrist, holding on tight even through unconsciousness.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Sam smiled, pushing back another lock of Tommy’s hair. He could worry about Dream later. For now, outside the prison, he wasn’t the Warden. He was Sam, and his ward was right here.</p>
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